


Life Lessons

by linndechir



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It always seemed unfair that Robert should inherit Storm's End one day when he cared so little for it, but the law was the law, and Stannis learnt at a very young age that no man was above it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> My fic for the latest round of got_exchange on LJ. I completely forgot to repost it here. The prompt was to write something about Stannis' childhood in Storm's End.

Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and cousin of King Aerys II, climbed up the endless stairs to the highest floor of the castle's tower. Nobody else bothered to come up there most of the time, despite the stunning view over Shipbreaker's Bay, and it was his favourite place to be alone and think without any distractions. He had received a message from the king earlier that day, concerning the matter of Prince Rhaegar's marriage. The prince still had no sister, and it seemed that King Aerys was growing increasingly concerned with finding an appropriate bride for his heir, if the usual Targaryen customs couldn't be observed.

But while Steffon could usually rely on the place being abandoned he had no such luck this time. He found his youngest son standing in his favourite spot and looking out over the bay, the way Steffon himself often did. And although he hadn't expected any company here, he couldn't help but smile – the last time he had seen Stannis up here, the boy still had to stand on his tiptoes to look out of the high windows, but a recent growth spurt had done away with that problem.

Stannis quickly turned around when he heard steps, an almost guilty look on his face. There was often something defensive about the way Stannis held himself, as if he thought he had to justify himself for being there.

“Father.” Stannis' voice cracked a little, the way it had for months, not quite a boy's voice anymore, but far from settled in a deeper pitch yet. Even so he sounded too serious for a boy his age. “I didn't know you were coming up here today. I wouldn't want to bother you.”

Steffon's smile widened and he stepped closer to squeeze his son's shoulder, but he frowned when he saw a long scratch on Stannis' cheek. 

“Don't worry about that.” He ran his thumb over the mark, was relieved to find that it was shallow and already cleaned. “What happened there?”

The boy shrugged and evaded his touch. He was too well-behaved to turn his back on his father, but he did cock his head to the side to hide his scratched cheek. Stannis didn't like to complain – whenever he did, it only served as a reminder that he was the younger brother, smaller and weaker than Robert, and all Stannis seemed to want was to be seen as Robert's equal.

“Just our morning lessens with Ser Gawen.” Stannis ran his fingers over the scratch as if he had only just remembered that it was there. “Robert's sword grazed my cheek. I was too slow in bringing my shield up.”

Not for the first time Lord Steffon was glad he still insisted his boys use practice swords when sparring with each other, since neither of them had the skill and the discipline to stop his blows in time. He ruffled Stannis' hair gently – the boy pulled a face, as usual, but he didn't move away this time.

“Robert doesn't know his strength yet, I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you.” Steffon wasn't entirely sure if that was true – Robert did like to push his brother a little bit harder than was strictly necessary, he enjoyed being the eldest and never passed up a chance to remind Stannis of it. No wonder the boy was always so serious, always trying to appear older than he was.

“He is much better with a sword than I am. He's stronger, faster, his technique is better – even though swords aren't his weapon of choice.” Stannis didn't sound jealous as such, but more irritated than anything else. Where Robert was impulsive, Stannis had an analytical mind – an admirable trait in such a young boy, his father thought, if not for Stannis' tendency to overthink even the smallest problems he came across. Steffon sighed and sat down on the stone bench by the wall, waited until his son joined him before he replied.

“Robert is a year older than you and almost a head taller. There is no shame in not being as strong as him yet.” But Stannis' frown didn't disappear, and Steffon realised that this was not about another scratch or bruise Stannis owed to his brother, nor about a boy's injured pride after being pushed into the mud once too often. Lord Steffon had hoped to send the boy along soon and give some thought to the king's letter, but he decided that His Grace's concerns could wait another hour. No one could blame him for dealing with his own sons before he dealt with another man's.

“If age was the only reason, Robert should also be smarter than me,” Stannis argued. He was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt for just a moment, until he visibly remembered that he wasn't supposed to do that ( _keep your hands still, boys, only children fidget_ – Steffon could imagine his wife's slightly exasperated voice and smiled; teaching a Baratheon fine court manners had never been an easy task to begin with). “But he never listens to Maester Cressen. He only ever remembers the battles from our history lessons, nothing else. He makes more mistakes than me, if he even bothers to write the letters the maester asks us to write. And he's terrible with numbers.”

For a moment Steffon almost wondered if Maester Cressen had put Stannis up to this, because he heard those same complaints from the old man every other day. But Cressen was a direct man who would never ask a little boy to speak for him, so Stannis had to have his own reasons for bringing this up.

“From what I hear Maester Cressen is very impressed by your progress,” Steffon said gently, but the compliment didn't even bring a small smile onto Stannis' face. 

“But Robert is going to be Lord of Storm's End some day, not me,” Stannis finally blurted out after a minute of sullen silence. “And then he will have to write letters all day, and calculate rations in winter, and know the laws of the land. He will have to know how to run the castle, how to speak justice and how to negotiate with other lords. And all he knows is how to punch someone harder than they can punch him.”

“He's a boy, Stannis, just like you, and boys are like that. I was the same at his age,” Steffon said. “I never listened to my teachers and all I wanted to do was hunt and fight. I was almost a man grown by the time I finally realised that I had responsibilities and that I should maybe learn how to take care of them.”

Stannis shook his head stubbornly, as if he refused to believe that his father had ever been anything like Robert.

“Maester Cressen always tells me that everyone has different talents.” The boy fell silent, looked down as if he felt guilty about what was on his mind. “It is just that Robert's talents seem much better suited to being a knight, serving as a commander or on the Kingsguard and fighting in wars. I know more about all the things he will have to know as Lord of Storm's End.”

“And yet he is my heir, and not you,” Steffon finished his thought for him, to spare his boy having to ask that question that every second son eventually asked himself. _Why does he get everything and I get nothing?_

Stannis nodded quietly, staring down at his feet again. For once he looked his age, young and insecure and unsure of his place in the world. Just a child who couldn't believe that a simple accident of birth should make his life so different from Robert's.

“And it seems unfair that the eldest son always inherits everything, even if he may not seem like the best choice.” Another nod.

“Do you know why we have laws, Stannis?”

The boy frowned up at him, surprised by the apparent change of topic. But Stannis had always been more obedient than Robert, so he answered instead of arguing with his father.

“Because there can be no justice without laws. The law ensures that every many gets what he deserves.” It sounded like something Maester Cressen had taught him.

“But the law isn't infallibly just, is it? A bad ruler could make unjust laws, or a shrewd man can twist the law for his own purposes, or a law that is generally good may have unjust results under particular circumstances.” He paused to make sure that Stannis was following him, but the boy had always been quick and bright. “No, while the law should of course strive to be as just as possible, its main purpose is to maintain order. A world without laws would sink into chaos. Laws tell us what every man and woman is allowed to do or obliged to do, and how someone should be punished if they do something that is forbidden or if they are remiss in their duties. That is how the king rules the country, how every lord rules his lands, every knight his castle, every man his family.”

“And the law says that a man's eldest son inherits his titles and his possessions, or his brother if he has no sons,” Stannis recited, but he still seemed unsatisfied by the explanation.

“Yes. Now imagine what would happen if we did not have such a law. Every time a man died, his sons would start fighting amongst each other, for every one of them would claim that he is the best suited to take over their father's possessions. Every one of them would say that he would be the best king or the best lord, and that his brothers would bring ruin on their family.”

“But the father could determine in his will which one of his sons should inherit,” Stannis suggested.

“He could, yes. But do you think that every slighted son who feels swindled out of his inheritance would follow his dead father's wishes? He would argue that his father was old and losing his senses, or that he was blinded by favouritism.” Maester Cressen had told him that Stannis had a fondness for history, that he even read books he wasn't required to read out of interest. 

“Take the Dance of the Dragons – it would never have happened if Viserys I. had not declared his daughter his heir when he had a son to succeed him, a son who easily found supporters for his own claim. Even a king cannot simply do away with the laws of the land, and if he does, he destabilises the entire continent. For if one man defies the law and gets away with it, others will follow.” Steffon smiled sadly, thinking of less dramatic, but still tiring arguments he had seen over the years, old friends who turned on each other over some trinkets an old relative had left them, brothers who cared more for their father's money than for the bonds of family. “Men are greedy, you see? And the law is there to keep our baser instincts – and we all have them, even the best of us – under control. The law makes sure that we do our duties and remember our place in the world. And it falls upon men like us, who have had the good fortune to be high-born, to uphold the law. We must never think ourselves above it because of our titles or our wealth.”

Stannis looked offended at that, as genuinely insulted as only a boy could look who had never done anything that made him question his own honour.

“I would never turn against Robert. I would never try to steal from him,” he said. “He's my brother, whether we like each other or not. I don't want to begrudge him what is his, but … you always say that being a lord is a great responsibility, an obligation more than a privilege.”

Steffon sighed. He had always spoken freely of his duties in front of his sons, hoping to teach them that their family name and their carefree childhoods did not mean they could spend their lives in idleness, but sometimes he wondered what he had done wrong that his eldest son ignored those lessons while the younger took them too seriously.

“It is. I never said the law is perfect, I only said that it prevents greater evil. And constant inheritance battles would be far more harmful to Westeros than the occasional incompetent lord who might have had a smarter brother.”

Steffon clasped his son's shoulder again, squeezed it tightly.

“You worry too much, Stannis. Robert will be a fine lord some day. He will grow up, just like I grew up.” He had no doubts about that. His eldest was a hothead, but he had a good heart. He was caring and generous and far from stupid. All he needed were a few more years and maybe some day a wife who would have a good influence on his temper, just like the Lady Cassana had taught her husband a few things about patience and kindness. And maybe in time, when Robert grew more serious, Stannis would allow himself to smile more often. Maybe in ten years Robert would do his best to follow in his father's footsteps while Steffon would have to drag Stannis out of a different whorehouse every week.

It was hard to imagine, given the humourless look on Stannis' face now.

“But what if he doesn't? What if he's lord some day and still only cares about hunting and riding and fighting?”

Steffon took his son's chin in his hand to make him look up, met eyes that were the same deep blue as his own, as Robert's, and not for the first time he wished that his sons would just learn to get along better. 

“Then he will have you to help him. You will serve as his castellan and support him in his duties. That is _your_ duty as his younger brother – to be whatever your brother, your _liege lord_ needs you to be.”

Stannis still looked unhappy and disgruntled – unfortunately not a rare look on his face – but Steffon was relieved to see that there was still no jealousy in his eyes. He didn't seem to begrudge Robert his position, but only that he did not appreciate it more. Steffon only hoped that Robert would learn that some day, for both their sakes. “Can you promise me you will do that?”

“Yes, father,” Stannis replied obediently, but there was a quiet determination in his eyes. Steffon wondered if it was smart to instill even more of a sense of responsibility and obligation in Stannis, but at the same time he seemed more content now than when he had thought himself a useless second son with no place in the world. 

Steffon stood up, his movements mirrored by Stannis.

“I have to write a letter to the king,” he said gently, ruffled the boy's hair again. “You can stay here if you like.”

“Thank you, father,” Stannis said, but Steffon had a feeling that the boy wouldn't stay. He wasn't sure if it was his natural temper or simply a dislike for most people he knew, but Stannis had always been a bit of a loner, and while Robert never understood why anyone would not want to be around him, Stannis knew when to leave people alone. But Steffon held him back for the moment, his hand still on Stannis' hair. Sometimes it struck him how much his sons looked alike – not at the first glance, Robert was taller, his face rounder and redder, always smiling and laughing. But if one bothered to look closely, they had the same facial traits, the same eyes, the same nose, the same strong jaw, the same soft black hair.

“You and your brother could learn so much from each other, do you know that?” he said, and he couldn't keep the resignation from his voice. He had a feeling that, even if they grew out of some of their flaws, his sons would never be truly close. They only saw their differences when they looked at each other, and they were both too proud to see those differences as anything other than shortcomings, without ever realising that they would make formidable allies if they ever bothered to work together rather than sabotage each other. Robert would need some of Stannis' level-headed discipline if he ever was to become the great man Steffon knew he could be, and Stannis would never be happy if he didn't learn from his brother how to smile and laugh and enjoy the small pleasures in life.

But his son only looked up at him without understanding, convinced that the only thing he could possibly learn from Robert was how to swing his sword with more force. Steffon sighed – he had already given the boy enough to think about for one day, and he knew better than to try and bring his sons closer to each other.

“If you're not staying here, go and keep your mother some company,” he said instead, and that at least brought the hint of a smile to Stannis' face. For a minute he listened to the footsteps on the stairs as Stannis made his way down, but then he sat down again and pulled the king's letter from his pocket. Read again that it was time for Prince Rhaegar to get married, but that the king was not sure he wanted him wed to a lady from Westeros, since he did not need any of his lords to think themselves too high and mighty. That he wrote to Lord Steffon because they were cousins, and because Steffon had no daughters or sisters he sought to wed, and could therefore be counted on to give the king unselfish council. 

Steffon let out a deep sigh as he reread the letter another time. He did not like where this was going, for he knew King Aerys well enough to know that any compliment was usually followed by an unpleasant request or order soon after. He wondered what on earth the king could possibly want him to do about a bride for Prince Rhaegar.

As he looked out of the window and started to compose a reply in his head, he prayed silently that it would be years before either of his sons should ever have to deal with the intricacies of politics, where laws and rules and a maester's lessons only rarely told a man what was best.


End file.
